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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761365">Out of the Closet, Into the Fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanna_Kay/pseuds/Joanna_Kay'>Joanna_Kay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But nothing extremely graphic, Coming Out, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, M/M, fluffier than it sounds!, mentions of (canon) drug abuse/use, mentions of hate crimes, rated for a couple of swear words, underage clubbing (no sex etc)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:54:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanna_Kay/pseuds/Joanna_Kay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler Kennedy Strand just wants to meet up with his friends and hit a club. He accidentally comes out to his father and words are said.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fan Fiction Library (Discord) Prompt Challenge #1: 20 Prompts</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Out of the Closet, Into the Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>While this is my third 9-1-1 Lonestar ficlet, I have only watched 2 episodes. This is unbeta'd but has been put through spelling and grammar check. I did request a sensitivity read-through and the wonderful Lightningspartan was willing to oblige!</p>
<p>This is a response to two separate Discord server event challenges. The first, from Fanfiction Library, was tp embed the dialogue: “Only over my cold body.” The second, from Fanfiction HQ, was simply Fearless.</p>
<p>I hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m going out!” Tyler Kennedy Strand called out as he grabbed his denim jacket and began to pull it on as he headed down the stairs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where are you going?” Tyler sighed and stopped his forward momentum, turning to look at his father with a roll of his eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Out. Some friends and I are hitting Collective for a few hours.” Collective was the popular new gay club that had opened up in Manhattan, one of the few that allowed underage patrons.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Collective? You haven’t mentioned going there before.” Owen Strand leaned against the wall, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re not around as much as you think.” It wasn’t a complaint or even an attempt at a guilt trip, merely a statement. TK was proud of his father, a captain at the FDNY, but a firefighter’s schedule was not always conducive to being a single father. Owen regularly worked a string of 12-hour shifts or 24-hours straight with a few days off afterwards. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a lot Tyler got up to that his father didn’t know about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tyler.” It was quiet, a soft sigh of a name that spoke of arguments being rehashed over and over again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dad, it’s fine. I just want to go out with my friends.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Owen nodded slightly, eyes distant for a moment before being trained on his son. “Over my cold, dead body.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” It was full of teenage indignation. How dare Owen try to interfere with Tyler’s plans at this late date? The fact that Tyler had been careful to schedule his going out to when Owen was working was carefully ignored.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want you going to The Collective. Can’t you go somewhere else?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, Dad. We’re meeting at Collective. Is this because its a gay club?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What? No!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, Dad. It’s a gay club. Boys on boys. They card everyone who gets in and anyone underage gets their hands stamped at the door so bartenders know not to serve them. You don’t need to worry about me drinking. They have good music. We just go to dance.” It was an outright lie; the stamps stopped the bartenders from serving minors but it didn’t stop other people from buying them a round. The statement also ignored the fake ID burning a hole in his pocket, a pricey $100 investment from a friend’s older brother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, there was usually lots of dancing, quite a bit of it shirtless and hopefully involving a bit of grinding against the other person.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t care about that. I just don’t want you going there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tyler felt a frisson of anger start in his belly and erupt upwards. Teen hormones had taken quite the toll on his temper, exacerbated by his father’s absence and everything he had been going through alone for the past year. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck you, Dad. If I want to go hang out at a gay club, you can’t stop me.” Tyler turned and grabbed his shoes from the stool by the door, toeing them on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re my son. You are 16 and you live under my roof. I’m pretty sure I can stop you.” It was quiet, steady. Owen refused to fight anger with anger. They wouldn’t get anywhere that way, both stubborn Strand men yelling at each other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tyler stood and looked at his father, shaking his head in disappointment. “What, a queer kid isn’t part of the macho image you have going at work? Who would’ve guessed you were such a homophobic piece of shit.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tyler. Tyler!” The answer was the slam of a door, the teenager taking off and climbing into a beaten up car that Owen vaguely recognized. With a frisson of unease, he realized that he had no idea who his son considered friends, a far cry from even just a few years ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was early the next morning that Tyler returned, ushering in the smells of cigarette smoke and alcohol. He shrugged out of his denim jacket, dotted with glitter, and grimaced as he saw his father sitting on the sofa, TV on mute in the background, a glass beer bottle in front of him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to fight, Dad.” Tyler’s voice was tired. He had been out with friends for hours, first at the club and then a 24 hour diner. He had debated heading home with one of his friends, but he truly just wanted the comfort of his own bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tyler also knew that if he was out much longer, Owen would either ride to the rescue or send in the cavalry. The first two hours at Collective, he had flinched at every hand on his shoulder, sure that he was about to be dragged away. How he would’ve survived that humiliation, he wasn’t sure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s good. We’re not going to,” Owen promised, He gestured to the seat opposite him and waited until Tyler threw himself down onto the furniture with a groan. His nose wrinkled at the smell that drifted through the air from his son, making a mental note to bring home some heavy duty cleaning supplies from the firehouse to get the smell out of the upholstery.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.” Owen shook his head and raised his hand to stop Tyler from speaking. “You got to talk earlier. This is my turn.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tyler leaned back, crossing his ankles and his arms. He was well aware of what message his body language was giving off, but couldn’t help himself. Before Owen could even begin, Tyler swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I didn’t mean it!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tyler,” Owen sighed leaning forward to prop his forearms on his legs with a shake of his head. “I know you didn’t mean it,” he soothed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tyler jerked a nod, unable to continue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The very fact that you could even say it, though,” Owen shook his head. “I thought I raised you better than that. To actually talk instead of attack.” When Tyler opened his mouth to interrupt, Owen tsked with another quick headshake. “Tyler, look at me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a few moments before brown eyes met blue, both swimming with emotion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tyler Kennedy Strand, you are my son and I love you. I love you regardless of who you are involved with, regardless of what you say to me. No matter what, you are my son.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Owen moved forward as Tyler’s eyes welled and the teenager began to cry, sitting on the pale coffee table and reaching forward to pull his son into an awkward hug. He pulled back after a moment and gestured to the papers on the normally pristine table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were a handful of official looking manila folders, open with black and white crime scene photographs and typed reports, letters blurring. Scattered over them were newspaper articles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Owen bit his lip, wondering if he was being too blunt with his son, a teen apparently more fragile than he had always thought. “Some of them had alcohol or drugs in their system, some were alone, some with friends. Most of them are homosexual, but not all of them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dad, I know this isn’t going to be an easy road.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Owen agreed. “It won’t. I’ll be here to support you however I can. But these…” Owen sighed, glancing down at photographs already burned into his psyche, each and every face replaced with that of his son. “Every single one of these hate crimes happened within three blocks of The Collective since its grand opening.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tyler gasped, looking down. To him, The Collective had always been a safe space. He’d known that violence happens, enough kids were bullied in his school over rumors of being gay and he read articles on the internet. But for something to hit so close to home…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three hours ago, he had been where those bloodstains had fallen, surely accompanied by slurs and fists and weapons. He recognized the graffiti, the street corner, the alley.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tyler, you’re a teenager. Your job is to find yourself and be yourself. You’re supposed to be fearless, looking the future dead in the eye.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Owen pulled Tyler into another hug, tucking the teen’s head into his neck reminiscent of how he had held him as a younger boy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was never about you being gay, buddy,” Owen whispered. “It was about you being safe. That’s my job: keeping you as safe as I possibly can.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tyler nodded, melting into his father’s embrace. All of his fear’s weren’t alleviated, but enough were that he could relax a bit. At least he had his father in his corner.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shifted, freezing at the quiet rattle of pills that came from his pocket. When Owen said nothing about the noise, Tyler sighed and breathed in the scent of his father’s aftershave.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you liked it! </p>
<p>Any feedback is appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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